Photograph
by SilverMooonshine
Summary: It's Summer, 1899. Albus' life has been changed forever, and no matter how far he travels he can't seem to get away.


**Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me.**

 **Written for the QLFC Round 13: Go Wild!  
Position: **Chaser 2, Harpies  
 **Prompts:  
** 5 (style) travel journal  
9 (song) 'Photograph' by Ed Sheeran  
13 (word) riverbank  
 **Word Count:** 1,236

 **I hope you like my interpretation of Albus' heartbreak, and how you see this ending is up to you're own imagination... Enjoy!**

* * *

 **August 20** **th** **, 1899 – Godric's Hollow**

This is it. My bags are packed. I haven't told Aberforth yet; I probably won't tell him. He'd only try to stop me, and last time he stopped me travelling it ruined my life. Or led to me ruining my life, to be more specific. But nothing will ever be the same again.

I'm not taking much – there's nothing here I wouldn't happily forget.

 _Checklist_

 _-Wand_

 _-Money_

 _-Robes_

 _-Muggle clothes_

 _-Books_

 _-Quills and ink_

 _-This journal_

 _-The photograph_

 **August 21** **st** **, 1899 – Port Isaac**

I don't know if I could be any further from home, and it's marvellous. It's so quiet here, so unassuming. No one knows my name, and no one cares. These people don't even know that magic exists, let alone the story of my life.

I wouldn't admit it to anyone, but the thing I like most is the distance from my brother. The hurt and betrayal in his eyes is something I know I'll never forget, no matter how long I live. I see my sister's ghost walk through them, and the way she looks at me with fear.

I know I should be mourning, but I'm mourning the wrong person. Even now he's away; I remember how he kissed me. I miss his lips.

 **August 25** **th** **, 1899 – Covent Garden**

It's so vibrant here, much better than the Cornish towns. They were relaxing, the sea was invigorating and the vast open water made my problems feel insignificant. But the quiet was getting to me, giving me too much time to think. This is much better.

There are street performers round every corner, colourful stalls selling a million things I will never need, and music fills the air from dawn 'til dusk. The food looks as good as any we were ever served at Hogwarts, if only it didn't turn to ashes in my mouth.

It's funny, the way grief affects people. The ways it breaks them. I've heard of wizards losing their magic, witches unable to sleep. Me? I can't feel anything. The world is empty to me, even in a place like this. The music is but a toneless whisper to my ears, the colours merely shades of grey. I walk around in my vacant world all day until I find the relief of sleep void of dreams. The only things I can see clearly anymore are the faces of the two I've lost. The feelings they bring with them are almost unbearable, but it's the only thing that makes me feel alive.

 **September 10** **th** **, 1899 – Pockleton**

I swear it will get easier, or at least that's what I tell myself. I travel from town to town, moving on before anyone gets to know me. I can't have people asking questions. I'm not ready to talk about them yet. My sister's name is too sacred to pass through my tainted lips, the ones that may have kissed a killer. Or they may belong to a killer. I don't know which is worse.

 **September 12** **th** **, 1899 – Forest of Dean**

I can't do it anymore. I can't stay in towns, there are too many reminders. A flutter of a scarf is the colour of his eyes, every picture in the newspaper flashes his smirk, his smell infiltrates every room I stay in. It could be that he's taunting me, but I know he's kept deep within my soul; it's my obsession come to haunt me.

He left me alone, after he told me I'd never be alone as he held me close. We made memories for ourselves, but he's left me with them. They're left to tear me up; like barbed wire in my veins which rips more and more into me with every passing second.

 **September 13** **th** **, 1899 – Outside Hogsmeade**

Magic hangs in the air here. After being away from it for so long, I can now sense it very clearly in large quantities. Even a little way out of the village I can feel it. I haven't missed it — I haven't been able to cast a single spell since that evening.

I've always prided myself on my magical capabilities, but I got too proud. It's destroyed me, and destroyed my dear innocent sister.

I wonder if it's destroyed him.

I'm sitting by the riverbank, and I know the stream will pour into the Great Lake, the lights of Hogwarts reflected in its waters. I wish I still had the protection of the stone walls, where any mistake could be righted by a stern telling off, or at worst a detention.

This is the first time I've allowed myself to look at the photograph. I don't know why I kept it, let alone bought it with me. I suppose I could never really let him go.

On the crumpled paper we stand, time forever frozen still. Innocent, happy, full of love and aspiration. But our love is only kept in this photograph — I know it doesn't live on in him. He is gone, and the only way I can hold him is between the pages of this journal.

I hate myself for keeping it, but even when I held it over the water it would not leave my hand. The only time I ever felt at home was when I was with him, and now I have nowhere. I don't deserve to be here; I'd do anything to swap places with Ariana. The least I can do is join her. The world would be a better place without me.

As I look into the water, I can see her. Her face is smiling at me, like it used to, back when she trusted me. All I have to do is stand, and fall. It's so easy.

Wait for me to come home, Ariana.

 **September 19** **th** **, 1899 – Godric's Hollow**

I found your journal, Albus. I know I'm not allowed to touch your stuff, but I don't have any other way to talk to you. I'm not even sure if I want to talk to you after what happened to Ariana, but we're all each other's got.

You're so lucky, so _goddamn_ lucky. That someone was walking past, that they investigated the splash, that they called me instead of the press. It's more than you deserve.

But we got to you on time, whether that was right or not. Whether you want to live or not, you have to. For her, Albus — to make it right. You have the power to improve the lives of thousands, so do it for _her._ When it gets hard, that's what you'll have to cling to.

I went back to the riverbank yesterday, and I took your photo. I threw it in, so he could die in your mind and in your place. I know love can hurt, but he isn't worth it. I can't lose both of you to him.

I don't know if you'll ever read or see this, or if you'll ever get the chance to. But please, Albus, come home.


End file.
